the fire flower
by enayaC
Summary: on the chimney of 221 B Baker street, a small object is getting John curious. it's nothing, though... just a little glass flower. or is it a bit more than this?
1. Chapter 1

The first day he came to Baker Street, John noticed it. On the fireplace, between the human skull and the opera glasses, there was a small object made in glass. It was a flower. The reason it caught John's eyes at first was because it was really beautiful. Simple, but nearly perfect. It also seemed a bit... out of place.

He quickly stopped noticing the flower, though, but he knew it was on the fireplace that Sherlock would put what mattered to him. Or what was troubling him. Either way, it was extremely clear that the detective cared for it. John remembered his first case with Sherlock, when the flat had gone under a drug bust from Scotland Yard's agents. Phillip Anderson, or as Sherlock called him «the idiot from the Yard», had decided to search the fireplace and had moved the flower. Sherlock, who until then had been very calm and polite despise the intrusion in his home, had then lost his temper.

« put that down, Anderson. Right now. Don't you dare put your big greasy hands on that thing.»

Thankfully, Lestrade had came to the rescue and calmed the situation down.

« Anderson, it's a glass flower. What did you expect to find under that? Leave it. There's nothing on the mantle. »

many months later, on a cold winter night, John suddenly noticed something strange. The flower seemed to glow.

« how does it work?» he asked, curious. « the flower on the fireplace.»

« what are you talking about, John?» The detective asked without stopping reading his newspaper.

« it's glowing...»

he put his paper down, gave it a quick look, and sighed heavily.

« it's just a reflection of the fire. Tea? »

John was surprised by the offer, but gladly accepted. It wasn't everyday Sherlock Holmes would think about asking him if he wanted something. Sherlock got up and went to the kitchen. He prepared the tea, but John caught his glance on the small thing. In these eyes, he saw concern, and some kind of melancholy. He decided not to insist. A few months later, it happened again. This time, it was in June. Sherlock saw it as clearly as John.

« is it a reflection of the fire again?» John mockingly asked.

Sherlock stayed silent for a few seconds.

« must be the light from a car in the street.» he replied.

« yeah. Must be. »

and a moment of silent fell on the room. John decided to break it.

« what is it, Sherlock? What is this flower to you? »

« it's a memory. Left there by a childhood friend. »

« where is he, now? »

« she. And I don't know. »

he got on his feet, and went to his bedroom, locking himself in. The third incident took place the next day. This time, John didn't notice anything, at first. Sherlock suddenly sprung out of his armchair, and dashed to the fireplace. He took the flower in his hands, and, to John's surprise, his eyes widened.

« no...» he whispered. « NO! NO! NO! NO! »

and he started throwing on the ground everything that came to his hand. It was that moment Lestrade chose to come into the flat. He gave the doctor a surprised look, and got a shrug in return. John didn't understand either.

« Sherlock, what's going on?» He asked.

« the light went off! It wasn't supposed to go off! It was supposed to keep burning until... »

he didn't finish his sentence.

« does it have anything to do with...? » Lestrade started.

Sherlock gave him a death glare, and then nodded.

« I'm sorry, Holmes...» the inspector said.

« what are you talking about?» John asked.

« it's an old case. Better not ask too many questions. I think I'd better go, for now. »

after that, the detective seemed to fall into a deep depression. Of course, Sherlock was Sherlock, and he never refused a case if it shown any interest. But he seemed... wearied. Jaded by everything. This general apathy went on until one day, while he was out, John noticed something.

« Sherlock!» He said when he came home. « the flower... It flickered! »


	2. Chapter 2

«Sherlock!The flower... It flickered! »

Sherlocks eyes widened.

« can't be... John, are you sure you saw it flicker? »

« positive.»

« alive... But how? And why is she gone again ? »

« Sherlock, are you talking about the... Flower? »

« no!»

and he turned and left the flat again. John didn't get any other explanation. The detective's apathy then turned into a frenzy. One night, as he was coming back from work, John found the flat in an undescribable mess. Crouching in the middle of the battle field was a crazy eyed Sherlock. He was holding an old knife. As he heard noise, he looked up and discovered John.

« is it worth it, John?» he asked in a feverish tone.

« Sherlock...» the doctor said, carefully coming closer.

« is the result worth the price? If I can save her, shouldn't I take the chance ? She would have done it for me... »

« Sherlock, put the knife down.»

« I'm worried, John. Worried and angry. I'm getting sentimental. I'm getting irrational, and I don't like it! »

« Sherlock, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm worried too. I'm worried about you! What are you gonna do with this knife? »

Sherlock looked up at him again, and got is usual superior face for an instant.

« oh, don't be ridiculous, John. I'm not gonna cut my veins. I can open a way to her, and save her wherever she is, but the spectres could get in both our worlds. »

« right, what did you take?»

Sherlock got on his feet, annoyed. So did John.

« I didn't take anything, John. I'm not high! »

« listen to yourself, Sherlock! You're delusive! Wake up, for god sake! »

suddenly, someone knocked at the door. It was a soft knocking. Sherlock went to the door and opened it. There was a girl. She must have been around eighteen. No. A bit younger. She saw the knife in his hand, and said :

« don't.»

« you know what it is?»

« of course I do. I didn't know it was in your world. »

he let her in, and observed her from bottom to top. Blond. Thin. A very pale skin. Nearly transparent. Red eyes. She held his gaze and looked back at him.

« who are you?» John asked.

« Melody Carter. I'm here to talk to you about a common friend, Mr. Holmes. »

« you know me. How? »

« she told me about you. She refused to tell me the story, though. She said I was too young.»

« How did you find me?»

« Manicha heard you. You gave her headaches. She said I should come to you before you do anything stupid. »

« Manicha...» Sherlock repeated in a thoughtful whisper.

« you don't need to save her.» Melody continued. « Someone already went for her.»

« so she's all right?»

« she will be fine. Given some time. Any minute now, the flower should start glowing again. »

« you know about the flower.»

Melody glanced at the small object on the fireplace.

« I'd say it's one of the most beautiful she ever did. The second most beautiful, in fact. She must have really cared for you. »

« why did you cry, then, if she is fine?»

« one leaves, so the other can live. Only remains... »

«the hope of seeing him again» Sherlock completed.

« you know our ways. I had to say goodbye to a very good friend. »

« I understand.»

« I'm gonna have to go. I would like to be there when she wakes up. »

« tell her I said hi.»

she smiled.

« I will.»

she then glanced at the knife.

« I should probably take that. Take it somewhere safe. »

« of course.»

he handed her the knife. She came closer to shake his hand, and whispered something in his ear, and he discretly nodded. Then, she left, and Sherlock closed the door on her. He took a moment to breathe, and then, when he turned back to John he was Sherlock Holmes again. He had the shadow of a smile when he saw the flower glowing on the mantle.

« who's Manicha?» John asked with half a smile, as he was happy everything was back to normal.

« absolutely no idea. Tea? »

John sighed. So he wouldn't get an explanation. He agreed to the tea. Sherlock hence prepared the cups, and in his friend's drink, he discretely poured what was in the bottle Melody had put in his hand. He remembered what she had whispered to him. « it would be simpler for him to forget...». On the bottle was a tag saying: B67, Retcon.


End file.
